


Counsel and Consolation

by VelveteenThestral



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester, Pride and Prejudice - All Media Types, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelveteenThestral/pseuds/VelveteenThestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitzwilliam Darcy visits an old friend for comfort and advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counsel and Consolation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckbeakbabie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckbeakbabie/gifts).



> Edrington's much-debated first name, in my opinion, is Anthony.

March, 1812  
London

“Fitz! Good to see you. Come sit down and tell me how you’ve been.”

Fitzwilliam Darcy studied his old friend Edrington. The warmth in his smile and the affection in his brown eyes hadn’t changed, but he was carrying himself stiffly, and there had been a brief flash of pain in his face as he’d clapped Darcy’s arm. Not much of a surprise, really.

“I’ve been well enough,” Darcy said, taking his seat. “But how about you? How’s your shoulder? Healing well, I hope?”

Edrington made a face. “The ball’s still lodged in it. They’re hoping a London surgeon will have better luck getting it out than they could in the field hospital. It could be months before I’m back with my regiment. I don’t like it.”

“No, of course not.” Darcy shook his head. Edrington had always been army-mad, even in their schooldays; he’d gone for an ensign at sixteen, and refused to sell his commission when his elder brother’s death had left him in possession of an earldom he’d never expected would be his. Naturally, the trifling matter of a wound that might cost him the full use of his right arm forever wouldn’t have discouraged him either. “That explains why you’re in London, anyway, instead of with your family in Devon.”

“With my mother fussing and hovering over me every moment?” Edrington said. “No, thank you. Besides, Devon in the winter is too dreary to contemplate if I can’t lift a gun to hunt. But why are you here? I’d have thought you’d be at Pemberley.”

“I’ve been staying with Bingley,” Darcy said, affecting nonchalance as well as he could. He lowered his voice, the pretense gone. “Idiot. I came to see _you_.”

Edrington’s expression softened. “I’m flattered.”

“What, because you’re one of perhaps five people on the face of this earth who I care if they live or die? Not counting the ones I’d prefer to see die.” Darcy caught Edrington’s brief nod at that. He’d been the only person Darcy had told of the near-disaster last year with Wickham and Georgiana. He’d kept it even from Bingley. Edrington was the only one he’d felt he could trust.

“How is Georgiana?” Edrington said, obliquely acknowledging the subject.

“She’s well. I’m concerned, though. She’s still very subdued in company. I can understand it perfectly, but I’d like to see her regain at least some of her vivacity -- and her confidence -- before she comes out.”

“Give her time. And give her some better company than your aunt DeBourgh and her daughter, for heaven’s sake. Those two are enough to crush anyone’s spirits.’

Darcy scowled. “I know. But who else can I trust to keep her from the next unscrupulous fortune-hunter? I don’t trust myself to find a chaperone worthy of the name, now.

“What you want,” Edrington said lightly, “is a wife. One who’s young enough for Georgiana to see her as a confidante, and vivacious enough to set her an example -- Fitz, what have I said wrong?”

“Nothing,” Darcy ground out. “Nothing at all.”

***

It was late when they retired. There had been no ladies awaiting them in the drawing room, so they’d stayed at the table over port and Stilton and walnuts, Darcy leading Edrington into story after story of the Peninsular campaign, and they’d lost track of the time. Edrington had ordered one of the guest rooms made up for Darcy, but they’d both known he wouldn’t use it, or not until morning, at any rate, so the housemaid would find him where he ought to be when she came to make up the fire. What had started for them as schoolboy experimentation had quickly flared into passion, and though that had long since faded, the affection and trust still remained, and Edrington was more than willing to renew it in bed. And Darcy seemed very much in need of it. He pulled Darcy’s head to his chest, running his fingers through the loose brown curls. “Tell me, Fitz, is it really that bad?”

Darcy sighed, tilting his head into the touch like a cat. “It’s worse, Tony. I could bring myself to overlook how common her connections are -- though I’d never hear the end of it from my aunt DeBourgh, who wouldn’t forgive me for passing over my insipid cousin even if I were to marry a duke’s daughter -- but her mother is something out of a French farce. No. Worse. A Punch-and-Judy show. If you could only have heard her...and with Longbourn entailed, where would the widow Bennet come to live? That’s a prospect I can’t countenance, not for the most desirable girl in the world.”

Edrington raised Darcy’s face to his, and kissed him. “But you do find her the most desirable girl in the world.” He laid a finger over Darcy’s lips. “Don’t bother to protest. I can see it’s true.” He cupped Darcy’s face in his hand, and kissed him again, slow and gentle. “I’m glad it’s so. I feared you might someday marry for duty alone, and I couldn’t bear to think of it.” His hand sank into Darcy’s hair again. “You don’t love easily. Are you willing to throw away this chance?”

Darcy clung to him. “I don’t _know_ , Tony.” His anguished words were muffled against Edrington’s chest. “I do love her, much as I might wish it otherwise. But how a girl so lively, so sensible, and with such a superior understanding sprung from such a family, I can’t imagine - and I can’t imagine having to associate with them, as I’d be obliged to. It would be painful in the extreme.”  
Edrington knew that his friend spoke the truth, and that it wasn’t prompted entirely by snobbery. Darcy had been a shy, awkward boy when he’d arrived at school, unable to distinguish teasing from true hostility, and had solved his dilemma by affecting a great deal of arrogance, and by remaining cold and aloof. Edrington had been able to see through that pose, and had made the effort to win Darcy’s trust, for he’d admired Darcy’s intelligence, and found himself wanting to be admired in return. And it had been worth it, for, once his friendship was won, Darcy was fiercely loyal. But the shy, awkward boy was still just beneath the surface of the proud man, and, faced with company inclined to rally him with loud jests, would want nothing more than to retreat to his library or ride to the boundaries of his estate, where he might find the comfort of silence.

He wished he could pull Darcy into a tighter embrace, but it was impossible: his good arm was under Darcy, for it would have been painful to use the other, and that meant he could only manage the most gentle movements with the one left free. He settled for resting his lips against Darcy’s hair. “There’s an easy solution to that, you know.”

“I don’t believe you. Tell me this easy solution of yours.”

“Change your advice to Bingley. Encourage him to marry the sister. She’s the eldest; what would be more natural than for her mother to come live with her, when it’s needed? And Bingley is so amiable he could face the woman across the breakfast-table for the rest of his life without the least concern. You know it’s true.” And it was true: it was Bingley’s unfailing amiability that had made him Darcy’s other closest friend, once Darcy had seen there was no mockery in it.

Darcy groaned. “I concede the point. But even if I were to do so, how would I prevail, when his sister has taken her in such dislike?”

Edrington snorted. “Caroline Bingley, if you’ll excuse me saying so, is a harpy.”

“She is that,” Darcy said, with a snort that matched Edrington’s. “She’s made it plain she’d like me for a husband. I’d sooner marry a she-bear.” 

Edrington brushed a kiss against Darcy’s temple. “Then how much will her opinion sway him? If you convince him that his sister’s objections are mere snobbery, and point out Miss Bennet’s virtues, his own affection for her will decide the matter.”

“But what of her affection for him? I’m still not certain she has any great store of it. And if there’s anyone who deserves more than an indifferent wife, it’s Bingley.”

“Fitz, will you allow that you’re not the best judge of such matters? From what you’ve described, Miss Jane Bennet is possessed of an admirably calm and even temperament, and all the modesty her other sisters lack. Except for Elizabeth,” he added hastily, cutting off Darcy’s protests. “I had no intention of disparaging your choice. I only mean to point out that a girl of that demeanor would naturally refrain from showing too much partiality when she must be aware of the difference in their circumstances. And all the more so with her mother being so pushing and vulgar.”

Darcy curled closer to Edrington. “Do you really think so?”

“I do. And what’s more, I think you ought to post back to Hertfordshire as soon as you can, and offer for your Miss Bennet without delay. For if she’s all that you say she is, it won’t be long before some gentleman less exacting and more amiable than you secures her affections, and you’ll have lost your best chance at happiness.” He cupped the back of Darcy’s skull. “I want you to be happy, Fitz,” he murmured. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”

“I know,” Darcy said indistinctly. “I’ve never understood why, but I know it’s true.”

“Your muscles are in knots,” Edrington said. “I’d offer to rub your shoulders for you, but I can’t.” He trailed his hand down Darcy’s side, slipping it between them. “I’ll have to try another way to relax you.”

Darcy drew in a sharp breath and let it out in a sigh. “You don’t have to, Tony,” he said, but his protest was unconvincing.

“Shh. I want to.” Edrington kissed Darcy again, letting it deepen, letting affection build into desire. Darcy’s hands were tracing patterns on his back as Edrington kissed his way downwards, nuzzling against Darcy’s skin, taking pleasure in the closeness, the warmth and scent of a familiar body against his. Darcy’s hands threaded through Edrington’s golden curls as Edrington’s lips closed around Darcy’s cock, and the moan Darcy made at that sharpened Edrington’s desire almost to the point of pain. He didn’t have long to suffer, though.

“Tony. Stop.”

Edrington lifted his head. “Stop?”

“Just for a moment. Turn. I want it to be both of us.” 

Edrington smiled, resting his head against Darcy’s thigh. “You always did like that best. But I think we’d better both turn. One of us is going to be kicking at the headboard and the other have his legs hanging off the foot of the bed unless we turn slantwise across the middle.”

“Don’t bother me with details,” Darcy growled. “Just dispose yourself so I can reach you and get your mouth back on me instead of all this _talking_.”

Edrington chuckled, and pressed a kiss to the inner crease of Darcy’s thigh. “As you wish,” he said, rearranging them both.

When they’d finished, and Darcy lay once more with his head on Edrington’s chest, already drifting into sleep, Edrington wondered if this might be the last time they’d lie together. He’d always known the day would come; he’d expected, when it did, to be sorry about it. But he found that he felt no more than a slight wistfulness. He wouldn’t lose Darcy’s friendship, after all. And if Darcy was going to be happy? He was content.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the dates don't work. I ought to have taken that _Pride and Prejudice_ happened in the 1790s, when it was written, not around when it was published, so that Edrington would actually be around Darcy's age, and just picked another occasion for Edrington to have been wounded. But I'm not changing it now.


End file.
